NIGHT.--But stay! for there methinks I see the Sun,
Eternal Painter, now begin to rise,
And limn the heavens in vermilion dye;
And having dipt his pencil, aptly framed,
Already in the colour of the morn,
With various temper he doth mix in one
Darkness and Light: and drawing curiously
Strait golden lines quite thro’ the dusky sky,
A rough draught of the day he seems to yield,
With red and tawny in an azure field.--
Already, by the clattering of their bits,
Their gingling harness, and their neighing sounds.
I hear Eous and fierce Pirous
Come panting on my back; and therefore I
Must fly away. And yet I do not fly,
But follow on my regulated course,
And those eternal Orders I received
From the First Mover of the Universe.